Bitra's Burn
by Diglossia
Summary: The Bitran Seven have been targeted, an unknown group attacking them in the most unthinkable way: with firestone in Benden Weyr. Buthaynah searches for answers.
1. Chapter 1

"Buthaynah!"

Buthaynah paused in her packing and turned to look at the man that had called her name. She smiled out of habit in a way that contrasted starkly with her current mood.

"K'leel. It's good to see you," she said and resumed tying up the last of her bundles. She wiped a strand of hair from her face. "Whatever are you doing here?"

K'leel waved Buthaynah's pleasantries off and moved to help her pick up the heavy bundle. "Why are you leaving the Weyr?" he asked firmly, looking her in the eye. Buthaynah looked away and took the rope bound hide from him.

"You are not my ride, K'leel, so there is no reason I should tell you _why_ I am doing anything. I have no need to tell you of my personal choices."

K'leel frowned down at the smaller woman. "Aren't I your friend? Can you at least tell me where you are going?"

Buthaynah creased her brow and glanced out of the weyr she had made her temporary quarters in, looking out to the blue dragon that waited there. She had a long journey and she had little interest in wasting time talking to someone she would likely see again.

"Home, K'leel. I'm going back to Bitra."

ØØØ

Lady Misra having been deposed in a rather drastic way, the Bitran Lord Holder was anxious to return his Hold and holdings back to order. Misra had owned one of Bitra's largest holdings for ten Turns. She was well-liked for her fair dealings and clear contracting, though she had recently fallen into disfavor for her liberal stances in regards to dragonriders. It was rumored that Misra had dragonriders at her beck and call who could ferry her from Bitra to all parts of Pern, often carrying lucrative goods such as agenothree equipment and High Reaches coal, goods that would cost the average holder hundreds of marks to go the same distance. There were rumors that she would be replaced for outrageous actions but they were stilled for a time with the return of Thread and the beginning of the new Pass. Then, her actions came to be seen as clever agreements and self-protection, two traits highly prized in Bitran society. It was hoped that Lady Misra would rule through most of the Pass- she was very young, after all, hardly twenty-nine Turns- and thus keep the dragonriders under close contract for Turns to come.

But that did not happen. Misra was murdered in her own home, along with two foster daughters and several drudges. Misra had no heir and her maidservant, Varra, was left to sort through her documents and hides, as well as deal with the funeral arrangements and various 'relatives' who miraculously all showed up within a sevenday of the funeral. Varra was swamped with work and, with no one to trust, she sent a message to Benden Weyr asking for the return of one of Lady Misra's favorite pupils, Buthaynah.

The message was sent by private runner, Varra not foolish enough to send it by drums, thus alerting all of Pern of Bitra's misfortune. It arrived later than had been expected but, fortunately, the wax seal was unbroken when it reached Headwoman Renni.

Varra knew nothing of the recent horrifying events at Benden Weyr. She had no reason to expect anything amiss when her message came into Buthaynah's hands.

ØØØ

Buthaynah nodded her hello to the bluerider waiting outside for her. Several kitchen helpers had offered her their assistance and everything she owned was already packed aboard Memoth when she brought her personal bag, a loose wherhide bag filled with soapsand packets, sewing needles, and several other things that had not been destroyed when her quarters had exploded days before.

Memoth looked bored when she arrived, his eyes whirling a pleasant blue-green under the innermost layer of eyelids. Buthaynah glanced at his rider, an attractive enough dark-skinned man with brown-black eyes, and suppressed the urge to dismiss him instantly. She blinked, knowing her presumption- that the man was generally stupid, no less - would not show through her face. Buthaynah had fallen a bit out of practice in guarding her features but, once at Bitra, all but the smallest child would read her expression perfectly, knowing every last thing she was thinking if she did not guard more carefully. There was simply no need for such preventative measures at the Weyr; true emotion was valued for itself as were frank honesty and sociability, none of which she would need when she returned to Bitra.

Buthaynah only vaguely heard Memoth's rider's assurances about flying between before Memoth launched himself off of the Weyr ledge and began to pump his strong wings. They flew up to the Star Stones, Memoth's rider saluting the Watchrider for a second in time before they entered _between_ and the world went black.

Buthaynah heard a forlorn sign as they traveled through blackness, though whether its progenitor was herself or Memoth's rider, she did not know.

ØØØ

_She is gone_, Rimath announced quietly.

Ghaliyah frowned and worried her lip a bit. Buthaynah had left without telling her when or why. At dinner the evening before they had sat together of course, it being a break day, no Thread and little help needed in the kitchens, and Ghaliyah remembered Buthaynah mentioning that she would be leaving the Weyr to take care of business elsewhere but that had been all Buthaynah had said. There had been no mention of where she was going or when she would return.

This was a very bad sign indeed, Buthaynah being quiet about her affairs. Ghaliyah scratched at her right eyebrow and thought through the possibilities again. It was feasible that Buthaynah was off to negotiate redwort and fruit tithes from Benden Weyr's Holds but that was the duties of the Weyrwomen and Favanna had not mentioned anything about there being a shortage among the stores, though that too was hardly something Favanna would deem worthy of mentioning. Buthaynah could be going to deal with family issues- perhaps an older member had passed away- but Buthaynah had little contact with her family, everyone was aware of that. Josef had left his stamp on the poor girl and Buthaynah had long avoided the parents that had wanted to attach her to _that_ man. Ghaliyah doubted Buthaynah was returning home for a funeral.

Ghaliyah raked her hair back and winced as her wrist protested the rough movement. She hissed at it, as though it was the cause of all her problems of late, though it had been a freak accident (well, not an accident at all but as of yet Ghaliyah had no other name for the incident that had caused the destruction several Weyrs, almost all of which just _happened_ to belong to her and the other Bitran expatriates) that had sprained her tiny wrist. Rimath whistled a sorrowful note. Ghaliyah grinned at the dragon's weak memory, doubting that Rimath even remembered the disaster.

_You remember and that is enough for the both of us_, Rimath murmured, blowing hot air on her rider. Ghaliyah smacked Rimath's foreleg playfully, making Rimath wuffle more hot air on her.

"You stink of herdbeast," Ghaliyah groaned as Rimath pushed her muzzle against her back, sending Ghaliyah into the sandy floor. Ghaliyah wrinkled her nose at the green and kissed her muzzle before going back to her thoughts.

It was unlikely that Buthaynah was out on Weyr business and even less likely that she was attending to sick or dying family. Perhaps Buthaynah had found someone outside of the Weyr? It was not impossible, though certainly improbable. Buthaynah entertained plenty of men here, at Benden.

So why had she left? What could possibly take a woman who was nothing without the Weyr away?


	2. Chapter 2

K'leel scrubbed his face in one of the washbasins set outside the third tier of weyrs. He splashed water on his face before drying it with a soft fur towel, moaning with pleasure at the smooth feel of the cloth. He grabbed his toiletries and made his way up the stairs to M'jid's weyr where he had been staying ever since the explosion that had collapsed his and Pirveth's weyr and killed their friend and fellow Bitran expat, M'kai.

M'jid was distraught, so much so that he and Glimath had been grounded by H'mrit, his wingleader, until the Weyrhealer deemed them capable of more than gliding. M'jid was a _between_ risk in his current state. He had been close to M'kai and K'leel had known of his feelings for the man. K'leel had chosen to share weyrs with the man more to mask his concern for the pained rider than actual need. There were others in the Weyr who would truly welcome handsome K'leel and comely Pirveth; the greenrider could have stayed with many a man.

But M'jid needed him just to keep going, to wake him in the morning and make sure that the greenrider remembered to eat, and, until such time as the true perpetrators behind the recent incident at Benden Weyr were discovered- and hopefully the reasons behind it as well- K'leel would stay with him. Because maybe, just maybe, K'leel needed M'jid, too.

ØØØ

Galla scrawled the words out on the thin hide, seeming not to notice T'yib looking over her shoulder from his place by the entryway to her quarters. He peered at the words, more in confusion over her unfamiliar handwriting than in difficulty with the reading skill, and was uncomfortable to recognize the subject of her report: M'kai, rider of green Dyath, who had been killed several days before. T'yib looked at the Weyrwoman curiously. Her eyes were dry and her brow was set in a deep furrow. It made the bluerider wonder if she really cared about M'kai or if she was merely intent on her work.

"All riders are important, regardless of their dragon's color," Galla said quietly. She paused her stylus atop the piece of hide and clucked her tongue. "Can I help you, T'yib, rider of blue Fiyaleth?"

T'yib swallowed, taken slightly aback by the Weyrwoman's calm and imposing demeanor. As a Search rider, he had often had to come in contact with minor and occasionally major Lord Holders but Weyrwoman Galla, bonded to gold Biheth, the senior queen dragon of Benden Weyr, was a far more daunting figure to him.

T'yib took a deep breath and looked at Galla, his eyes focused on her cheekbones.

"I would like to inform M'kai's former hold of his-" T'yib winced. "-death, as well as his relatives, if I may."

Galla turned back to her report.

"A drum message should be sufficient, bluerider. You need not exert yourself."

"I would like to tell them in person."

Galla raised an eyebrow.

"I was not aware you two were so close," she said blandly. "Would not M'jid prefer to tell them?"

T'yib's breathing quieted the slightest bit before returning to normal, his voice refusing to waver. "M'jid is not well enough to do so, Weyrwoman. I would gladly take his place."

"Hmm," Galla said, putting a finger to her chin, the stylus clutched between it and her thumb. "Bluerider, I would be more inclined to grant your request if you were more honest with me. I tire of your verbal meanderings. What is it you really want, T'yib?" She turned back to look at him, her eyes boring calmly into his skull.

"I speak no untruth to you, Weyrwoman. I dare not," T'yib returned cautiously.

Galla laughed, a soft, ladylike titter.

"And, yet, you are not telling me the whole truth. Why is it that you, a man whose lover, dragon, and closest friends were all senselessly attacked and injured, have come to me completely calm, asking for permission to make a trip home? T'yib, what logic is it that brings you to me? I am not your Wingleader."

T'yib said nothing. Galla waved her hand irritably.

"Fine, bluerider. Leave the Weyr. Take the news of M'kai's death to his family. Shells, take all of your friends with you when you go. Do what you will when you're back on Bitran soil, I can't stop you. Just be back for Threadfall."

T'yib thanked her and saluted the Weyrwoman before turning stiffly and leaving the room.

"It's not like I can keep you safe," Galla muttered, watching him go. She sniffed and turned back to her report.

ØØØ

T'yib climbed the stairs next to the Bowl slowly, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Galla's words confused him, their meaning incredibly unclear. Was she angry at him for wanting to talk to M'kai's family or was there something more bothering her? The Weyr had been under attack, certainly, but T'yib had been told that the men responsible had been caught and that there was no further danger.

T'yib had never been good at holding anger or fear. His father had disliked him throughout his childhood, blaming him for every mishap in the holding and criticizing him constantly, calling him lazy, effeminate, and unambitious. Tayyib had learned to simply ignore his father's verbal assaults, brushing his heavy blows away with daydreams and calm thoughts so that they barely stung. By the time he was thirteen Turns and had entered into his first romantic relationship with another boy, that dislike had solidified into avid scorn and disgust. Every Turn the relationship between father and son had grown worse and every Turn Tayyib had become number to his father's scornful attitude.

It made the recent attacks easy to ignore. They were one more hardship that he couldn't control and so he focused on S'haiyl and Hamseth's recovering health and happiness instead. He could not change what had happened and he hadn't the means to find the minds behind the plot to destroy Benden Weyr's Bitran riders. The most he could do was to bring the news to M'kai's family while M'jid was grounded.

T'yib heard the sounds of two men arguing as he climbed the fourth flight of stairs to the Bowl. He thought to continue on as the fighting had the sound of a rather violent lover's spat but stopped when he recognized one of the men's voices: L'yown, green Razith's rider, one of his former flight instructors. He looked to his right, his left leg poised to climb the next step, and found a pair of inscrutable hazel eyes watching him. T'yib recognized B'vlan, brown Yimth's tall, portly rider, standing not ten centimeters from L'yown, who was looking up at the brownrider angrily. T'yib stilled, anger beginning to boil within him as he decided that B'vlan meant L'yown harm. The brownrider was leering over L'yown, the two obviously in the middle on an argument and T'yib could see that B'vlan with his greater height and weight could easily overpower L'yown.

He called out to them cheerfully to mask his worry and anger. B'vlan's eyes flashed for a second but then he sighed, his hand stilling on L'yown's arm. L'yown narrowed his eyes at B'vlan before acknowledging the blonde rider standing behind him. He turned, scowling at T'yib.

"L'yown," T'yib stalled, not having had sufficient time to prepare an acceptable excuse.

"Bluerider," L'yown responded crossly, either not recognizing his former student or annoyed enough to not care.

"Can I talk to you alone for a moment?" T'yib asked, his eyes following B'vlan as the heavy-set rider let go of L'yown's arm sighing and walked back into his weyr. L'yown's expression soured even more. T'yib began to doubt that his interruption had been a good idea.

"Why? You have no business with me," L'yown snapped, loud enough for everyone- had there been anyone- nearby to hear. T'yib's heart skipped a beat when an awful thought flashed through his mind: that L'yown was angry at him for stopping his and B'vlan's argument.

"I-" T'yib began but L'yown cut him off.

"Look," L'yown said fervently, his eyes shifting as he took in their surroundings. "Your weyrmates with S'haiyl, right?" T'yib nodded, confused. "And both of you just got attacked. Don't try to sell me this runnerdung about it being an accident. I'm not stupid," L'yown said quickly. "Dyath was killed. Hamseth was attacked. Look at it from my point of view: one of the top five most-sought after greens is dead and another's rider is injured. Do you know how bad this looks for me, bluerider? I'll tell you: bad, really, really bad. They were both in competition with Razith and every sharding other greenrider knows it. I'm thinking your pretty little greenrider didn't tell you about that nasty little fact since you started sharing furs again but for a while there he was some well-wanted meat around here."

"I simply wanted to ask you a question-"

L'yown jerked his head in a bare semblance of a shake, cutting T'yib off.

"Well, don't. Razith and I are getting enough odd looks as it is and we're too old to be switching Weyrs over a greenfight. Shells, man, don't you understand? You can't talk to me. _Ever_. If anyone, _anyone_ in this blasted Weyr who doesn't like me sees me talking to you or sees Razith so much as look in your dragon's direction, we're through. I'm not going through this again just because some pretty green couldn't stay with her weyrmate."

L'yown winced and ran his hand through his hair which T'yib realized for the first time was thinning. Perhaps the greenrider had a point. An awful, calculating point.

"I don't mean to be so harsh, T'yib," he said slowly, as though weighing his words carefully. "But things are getting very…strange… around here and it's not the first time something's happened to a green or her rider because she was competition. I'm glad you're with S'haiyl and I'm glad Hamseth's next flight won't be contested, and I'm not going to deny it. It'd be better for everyone if you just stayed away from me, bluerider."

"I meant no harm, L'yown-"

L'yown shook his head.

"Just leave me alone, T'yib, and things will be fine."

T'yib nodded and, shoving his hands back into his pockets, walked away, L'yown's words trailing after him.


	3. Chapter 3

This is a sequel to Bitra's Bite, which you can find here: fanfiction dot net/s/4826646/1/bBitra_bs_bBite_b_The_Story_of_Perns_Most_Hated

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Dower looked at the report in his hand, slowly adding up the numbers. The calculations came slowly to his brain and he, thorough as any steward, was careful to check again.

The men he'd bought the blast stone from a fortnight before were demanding a higher fee for a wagonload more of the material. Dower's master had no more use of the stuff, as Dower had told them. He knew the runner had carried the message faithfully. He suspected the men were eager to get the load off their hands, as eager as Dower to keep it out of his.

When reports of the discovery of ancient firestone mines deep in the High Reaches mountain range had arrived, Dower's master had ordered him to look into it for any claims their hold might have on the ancient veins. It had all turned to naught, as Dower had expected it to. Firestone had never been found in those particular mountains for good reason. The stuff just didn't come from there.

When the material found turned out to be of an explosive nature, Dower had been asked to look into the reports again for sale to Crom and other mining settlements. That had been another bothersome thing about the ore: it was too far from any mining hold to reflect something as marketable as firestone.

Bitrans. Dower grimaced. Never his favorite subject or anyone else respectable's, it was a wonder the crafty people had stayed alive. Were it not for cousins marrying cousins, they would have disappeared many Turns ago. Only traders and some of the northern Benden folk were willing to marry Bitran and only ever those on the very fringes of their territory.

You couldn't trust a Bitran for aught. Though there were plenty of big, doe-eyed Bitran girls, anyone stupid enough to raise the skirts of one was lucky to wake up with only his purse stolen and his throat intact. Nasty things happened to those who got involved with Bitrans. There wasn't a man alive could best a Bitran in a game of cards, be the Bitran man or brat. They bred tricky.

The Benden Weyrwoman was a fool for letting folk like them stand on the Sands. None on the ground wanted to be setting aside their hard-tilled crop for a couple of dirty thieves. A Bitran as could get all around Pern in the blink of an eye… Dower shook his head.

He was rather apologetic that a couple of good riders had had to die, though. Aye, but they'd been foolish enough to keep their things next to Bitran pickpockets. They'd only gotten what they'd had coming.

ØØØ

"What're we to do?" Goran hissed drunkenly to the men sitting to his right. Several of those around their table turned to glare at his raised voices. Goran waved them off and turned back to the men sitting with him, sipping mugs of spirits. "We can't keep the goods. It's too dangerous."

His nearest companion glared darkly. "I know we can't keep it. Dower promised us he'd pay as much as we mined. It's not our fault he used half of it before we'd delivered the rest."

"But he isn't gonna pay!" Goran interrupted, earning him a box to the ears.

"Shards, man, don't you know to be quiet?" he snapped in a low whisper. "I was going to say, he promised us as much as we mined and now he won't pay so we deliver the goods, cut our losses, and leave. S'all we can do."

"But he _owes_ us."

"And we'll get our revenge _later_, Goran," the other man said, an edge to his voice. "For now, we get rid of the wagonload and get out of this Faranth-cursed countryside. We make our way down to the coast and see if we can't make it to Tillek by next sevenday. Got it?"

Goran nodded, taking a deep swig from his mug, his eyes straying to the dice game taking place a couple of tables down. The third man, who hadn't joined in the conversation, caught the attention of the nearest server and motioned for more wine.

Far across the dark room, a small figure stood up and made its way to the door, Goran already sitting down to play as it left.

ØØØ

Buthaynah adjusted her jacket about her waist, her eyes scanning the clump of wagons and runners tied up outside the fishing hamlet. She settled on a nondescript bay, an ugly mare with a scab on her right back hock. Buthaynah slipped between the wagons, letting her fingers brush over the wood of the heavy sides. Catching sight of a basket of redfruit, she lifted a few of the less rotten ones and quickly tucked them into her pack. A further search revealed tubers, traveler's cakes made of cracked grain embedded in congealed fat mixed with dried berries, more fruit, and a small bag of marks. Buthaynah took some of all and all of the marks, shoving them inside her rucksack as well.

The runner whickered as she moved closer. Buthaynah blew into the ugly thing's nostrils, calming it before she untied the knot holding it to its post. With a quick look back, she mounted and yanked the runner's head around.

A few paces out, she noticed a wagon poorly hidden inside a clump of nettle bushes. Having the runner circle the bushes, Buthaynah studied it, frowning. Something valuable had to be inside for someone to try to hide the thing, albeit poorly. She dismounted and tied the runner to a nearby tree before she inched forward into the nettle bushes. The owners of the wagon had already broken many of the branches hiding the wagon and this proved to be a boon as Buthaynah had far fewer of the painful spikes try to lodge themselves into her skin. Once inside she found that there was a decent amount of space to move without upsetting more branches. Pulling the oilskin cover back, her frown deepened. The wagon was filled with a porous stone, resembling the firestone riders fed to their dragons. What in the first Egg's name would someone need a wagonload of firestone for? No Weyr would accept such a paltry offering. A midsize brown chewed as much in half a Flight!

It looked like firestone, she thought, inasmuch as a watchwher looked like a newborn dragon. The color was off, dustier, and more brittle. Buthaynah pulled a piece of cloth from her pocket and grabbed a good sized piece, tucking it away swiftly. She yanked the oilskin cover back down, smoothing it in place so it looked undisturbed. With a furtive glance around for anyone brought by her noisy press into the nettles, she decided she'd had enough of this dreary place.

She remounted and kneed the runner hard enough to get her going at full gallop. They set off west. Buthaynah was certain she'd find no answers so close to the seaside. Ocean folk were cautious and careful, keeping to their own business. Buthaynah needed innocent and trusting if she was to find anything useful to bring back to the Weyr.

It had been a full sevenday since she'd left Bitran territory, heading south on a search that grew more and more fruitless with every passing day. She'd had no leads and very few contacts who'd known the Lady Misra. A new holder had already taken her place in a mostly bloodless bid for power and most weren't keen on talking too much about one so recently deceased.

Buthaynah tossed a redfruit to the runner she'd stolen. Now that they'd stopped for the night, she'd gotten a good look at the thing. It was a sorry sight with sores all across its lower legs and what looked suspiciously like old whip marks. Luckily, it had no brand she could see. She could probably trade it out at the next runner station if she pretended she was a courier for some lesser Lord or Lady Holder.

Almost as an afterthought, she remembered the stone in her pocket. Buthaynah pulled it out and unwrapped it. It really did look like firestone more than anything else. Pity there wasn't a dragon around to test it. The stone obviously wouldn't yield any fire but dragons weren't stupid creatures, and wouldn't chew any old stone. The thought of a wagonload of the substance bothered her still. It had been hidden away. Someone had wanted to keep it from wandering eyes. And oilskin to keep it dry when it was just stone. A bit of rain wasn't enough to harm something like this, surely.

Buthaynah scraped at the stone with a nail. A bit broke off about as large as the nail she'd used to scratch it.

A fish surfaced with a wet plop on the shallow waters of the lake whose shore she'd decided to camp on. Buthaynah's stomach growled at the thought of something more substantial than tubers and fruit. She sighed. Without a net or bait, it was plum useless to hope she would catch a fish. Thinking idly, she wondered if she could mayhap scare one. No point having the thing taunt her while she watched.

At a loss for stones on the sandy shore, she tossed the smaller piece of rock at the next plop. A jolt coursed through her heart. Even before the stone hit the water, she knew she'd done something very, very wrong. Time seemed to slow as the rock soared through the air in a narrow arc. At the first touch of water, the very air exploded. Water shot up in a great spray as Buthaynah ducked instinctively. The stolen runner spooked at the sound and near about yanked the tree she was tied to out by its roots in her bid for freedom.

Buthaynah stared at the water raining back into the lake, then down at the piece of rock still in her hand. Shaking, she wrapped it back up, gathered her things, and leapt onto the startled runner. She sliced the lead in half neatly, then wheeled the runner around and headed back to the main trail. She needed to alert the Weyr _now_.

ØØØ

Galla looked in grim resolution at the bronze dragons gathering on the lip of Benden's Bowl. It was the measure of a heavy Pass that another queen was rising so soon. This would be Sanya's first mating flight. The queenrider was prepared- that wasn't what Galla was worried about.

No, it was the prospect of more eggs on the Sands so soon after the disaster that had cost Galla the lives of several very good dragons and their riders. Benden Weyr had overextended its Searches in the last few Turns and Galla wasn't certain her Searchriders would be well met this time around, especially if Zhinmath's Clutch was as large as the last few.

Boys too young to be ready for Fall dreaming of bronze would be easy enough to find. Any holder would be glad to have a second, third, or fourth son stand at Hatching if they were convinced there would be a bronze match. It wasn't something anyone could truly promise but Searchriders weren't above lying to gullible holders. A good third of those Searched would Impress brown or, possibly, bronze. Half wouldn't Impress at all, a few because they bowed out or became injured before or during the Hatching. Again, Galla wasn't worried about that. Weyrbred would fill out the remaining bronzes, browns, and blues. Candidates could be pulled from previous Hatchings and the Lower Caverns for the other blues and greens. Very few Weyr-bred girls would walk away partnerless from a Hatching.

It was the remaining greens that Galla was worried about. Greens were known to be finicky Impressers, sometimes so wishy-washy that they would wander for precious half-candlemarks before finding their true partner. The little newborn greens were so fragile when they first emerged compared to their brothers that they often shied away from the Candidates until they were sure they had a straight shot for the one they wanted. Girls were always in short supply to Impress greens and greens would only Impress boys of a certain inclination. It was to the Weyrs' benefit that such boys were so routinely despised on the outside that holders were glad to give them up. The Harper and Healer Halls, though more accepting of such inclinations, considered Searching too much of an honor to hold back those precious future greenriders.

Unfortunately, Pern had a limit to such people, a natural one that couldn't be tampered with readily. Riders' and Weyrfolk's acceptance of and bending towards dragonlust had no bearing on the instincts of freshly Hatched greens. Many a ghastly Impression-denied dragon death was a frantic baby green, unable to find a suitable partner among the Candidates on the Sands.

Queens _always_ Impressed, bronzes did, too, but browns, blues, and greens? Not too many holder families were keen on losing a son or daughter to a lowly green. It was tragic and had happened too often during the downtime of a Thread-free Pass.

Galla, like many of her predecessors, had nightmares in the days before a Hatching of a lone dragonet, eyes whirling a distressed red, unable to find his or her rider among the proffered Candidates, disappearing in a screech of despair.

In times like these, when holders and craft halls were shutting their doors, screaming about too many good young men and women lost to the Weyrs, Galla was hard-pressed to find more Candidates. She had thought, with Lady Misra's godsend of a brokered agreement, there would be new Candidates for Turns. It would have cost her nothing, since Bitra had been so stingy in the past, but now Lady Misra was gone, her hold's doors closed to Search and tithe if a new leader didn't step forward, one in favor of the Weyr and dragonriders.

It had seemed so simple: broker an agreement with the Bitran hold and soon the Hold proper would open its doors to Search. All of Bitra would be open to Search, all of it. Everyone across Pern knew the Weyrs were friendly to oddly inclined young men (though few riders mentioned why exactly or which colored dragons took to which young men when womenfolk couldn't be found to stand for the greenies), surely Bitran holdings had an excess they'd been keeping back out of spite to dragonriders.

Now, Galla bemoaned to her dragon and her stupid lump of a Weyrleader, they'd have to look elsewhere for young men and women to Impress the greens guaranteed in every Clutch. Who knew if there'd be a glint of metallic gold or bronze among Zhinmath's Eggs, who knew if there'd be a plethora of browns and blues this time around? To Galla's knowledge, there had never been a Clutch in all of Pern that hadn't had a tiny green nose pop out.

Call her crack-dusted- plenty had in her many years as Weyrleader- but Galla wouldn't worry about having enough good, strong boys to Impress brown and bronze. Call her Egg-knocked from too many Falls, Galla would be worried about having enough of an entirely different sort of boy to stand for Zhinmath's upcoming Clutch, one typically far more delicate in mind and body than the average brown or bronze rider.

_Rigenth_ _says the Weyrleader wants you to know it is time for us to leave the Weyr_, Biheth's soft voice said.

Galla nodded, _Thank you, dearest_, she said as she buckled her helmet- better prepared than need it when she was without. She hopped onto her queen's proffered leg before settling into the saddle between Biheth's wide ridges. Biheth took off with a powerful spring of her hind legs. Her golden hide glinted in the sun, almost blinding the brown Watchrider as Galla waved a curt farewell.

They blinked _between_ as Zhinmath blooded her first kill, winking out high above Telgar Weyr's ramparts.


	4. Chapter 4

This is a sequel to Bitra's Bite, which you can find at fanfiction dot net/s/4826646/1/bBitra_bs_bBite_b_The_Story_of_Perns_Most_Hated

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Buthaynah looked up, shading her eyes from the late day sun as she waited for Rimath's well-known green hide to appear over the Hold proper. Instead, a medium-sized dragon with an emerald green hide spotted with lighter flecks of olive popped out of _between_ with an unfamiliar rider on her back.

The green backwinged to land and Buthaynah got a good look at him. She frowned, watching the rider dismount.

"I shouldn't point out the obvious but you are not Ghaliyah," she said, grasping the greenrider's wrist when he extended his arm. He grinned prettily, showing dimples in his pale cheeks.

"I was wondering who could be calling for me all the way out here," he said, his voice a rich alto. "I would say the drums crossed the message. I'm G'hall."

Buthaynah laughed. "I see. Can you take me back to Benden Weyr? I work in the Lower Caverns and was here visiting family. Ghaliyah is a good friend of mine."

Now he ducked his head, meeting her eyes with a startling green that nearly matched his dragon's color. "I'm afraid Ghaliyah is a bit indisposed at the moment but I can certainly get you back to the Weyr."

He gave her a leg up onto his emerald mount before joining her with a graceful leap. They were pressed flush together in the modest space between his green's ridges. Buthaynah wasn't about to complain even if the man was unlikely to return her interest.

The green bunched her powerful hindquarters and leapt upwards with the grace her kind was so well known for. She unfurled her wings with a pretty snap and they were soon well above the quickly dwindling Hold.

"You said she was indisposed?" Buthaynah asked, turning her head to look back at G'hall. "Is she hurt?"

G'hall grinned again, showing that lovely smile. "No, nothing of the sort, my pretty lady. You'll see."

And she did as they passed through _between_ and emerged over Benden Weyr. Buthaynah could practically _smell_ the dragonlust. Mating season.

While greens could and would rise at any time of the year, early spring seemed to be the most common start of mating. Greens had a tendency to set other greens of and since it was rare for one to become violent or possessive during a Flight, Weyrs could have multiple risings in a single day which, given the personal internal clocks of each green, resulted in a majority of them rising within a few sevendays of each other. The greens easy acceptance of each other was a blessing considering the disastrous results of two queens rising in quick succession.

For non-riders or riders not directly involved with a mating flight, the feelings were less intense, more a general arousal or pleasantness depending on the person's age. Queen flights were far more emotionally demanding, partly because more Weyrfolk were interested in watching the outcome of even a junior queen Flight than the more common green flights and partly because the queens had much stronger feelings while mating.

Buthaynah, in her time away from the Weyr, had forgotten all of this, though she was certainly aware of it now that she had returned. She asked G'hall a few brief questions, trying to discern exactly _when_ Rimath had risen and was pleased to find out that it had been very early in the day. G'hall was a close neighbor of Ghaliyah's since she had moved to her new weyr. He lived a level below hers so Buthaynah felt no guilt about wasting more of his time by having him drop her off on Rimath's ledge. She expected to find Ghaliyah up on her feet and slightly irritable as she normally was after one of Rimath's rather rough mating flights.

ØØØ

Ghaliyah's biggest problem had always been her lack of acceptance of the role expected of holder women. She lacked subservience to the men around and above her, and it had gotten her in trouble again and again, both back in Bitra and in the Weyr. In Bitra, she had clashed with authority, had been unwilling to take the assumptions that she was somehow less of a person because she was a woman. Her parents had struggled to find a good match for her among family and had gone to great lengths to find a man willing to marry her who would also benefit the family. It was the typical holder dilemma: find a partner for their daughter who wouldn't beggar the family with her bride price. Outside of Bitra, most holders tried to hide the fact that there would be an exchange of marks to go with the marriage but where Ghaliyah was from, people never went to great lengths to hide what was a basic fact: someone would have to lose money if there was to be a good marriage.

Ghaliyah was certainly pretty enough to drive her dowry marks down- her only physical mar was the odd slant to her eyebrows- but her personality was a challenge. She didn't agree with the role expected of her by society and had unconsciously said or done things to aggravate the men who had tried to court her. She was getting older. Her sisters were prettier and more agreeable and, although it was against local custom to marry a younger sister before the older, her parents had been harder and harder pressed to find a good reason not to marry them off before her.

So when Lady Misra had brought a dragonrider sniffing at their door, Ghaliyah's parents hadn't wavered as much as they probably should have. They had let their troublesome daughter go with the powerful, if unusual, woman and hadn't shed all too many tears, thinking of all the marks they would save. They didn't see themselves as bad parents. Ghaliyah's dowry _had_ been climbing to levels to match her insufferable disposition and men _had_ been asking after Ghrouba and Amaliyah. It was a logical thing to do.

It had taken Ghaliyah over a Turn after she first departed from her childhood home to understand why she had always caused so much trouble. Meeting Lady Misra, a woman who answered to no man other than the Lord Holder, had certainly straightened out her idea that she disliked authority figures. She had liked the woman, found her charming and intriguing with her forward (or rather, _backward_) ideas, and had respected her. She liked Galla, too, in a begrudging way, from the first second she stepped into the Weyr and heard about her. The concept of Weyrwoman made sense to Ghaliyah; after all, weren't women the ones who repopulated Pern? A man could take a life but he couldn't make one, so why was he considered so much better everywhere else? The very concept of male befuddled her. A couple of seconds to start life and then they could just disappear forever and life would go on. What was the point?

Her first mating flight had been awful. Rimath's emotions had taken over and Ghaliyah was certainly swept away by her green's love lust but once she emerged from the dragonlust-induced haze, she had been disgusted to find some bronzerider slumped over her like a sack of rotting tubers. She had shoved him off, then raced to the baths to scrub _down there_ as much as she could with soapsand. She knew almost immediately from the looks everyone gave her that she was acting abnormally. The bronzerider had later regaled his friends with the story of the jumpy virgin who ran out of the weyr, leaving her clothes in the process. It would be prudent to say her next mating flight ended badly as well and earned her a reputation few in the Weyr could sympathize with.

Ghaliyah was miserable and Rimath couldn't understand her feelings any better than most of the Weyrfolk did. It was finally when a bluerider friend pulled her aside and asked her to come sit with the blueriders and male greenriders during their next feast day that she started to get a glimpse of her true nature.

She had dressed in Gather finery, feeling foolish, and had gone down to a section of the Lower Caverns the green- and blueriders had cordoned off for the special occasion. There, amidst the flowing drinks and sweetmeats, she had learned of mating flights that ended more like hers than other female riders, of mating flights involving bronze dragons and male-ridden greens, of bronzeriders awakening beside a man for the first time in their lives and having reactions far worse than her own. She had laughed and felt far better as several blueriders entertained her with finding themselves in orifices they weren't used to finding themselves in and other oddities.

Ghaliyah had learned there was still a sense of dignity expected of her unless her bedmate for the night hurt her or her dragon excessively, and that it was perfectly okay to have no interest in whomever she happened to end up with. The riders around her, many of whom had their tongues loosened by alcohol, had asked her sympathetically who she was interested in. To them, the answer was obvious but when they told her, it was a revelation.

She didn't like men. She'd _never_ liked men. She was comfortable around the blue- and greenriders because they didn't act like other men. Although most had no interest in women, they didn't treat the women around them with the scorn and derision of holders or the cheekiness of the bronzeriders, who honestly believed their dragon color made them the desire of every woman. They didn't see her as an anomaly; she was simply the logical conclusion to their belief that their sexuality was inbred and not born of dragonlust. Ghaliyah didn't know it at the time, but her existence helped to settle a long-standing debate between bronze and blue. Every rider was expected to be courteous to their dragon's choice and the rider that went with it. That didn't mean they acted the same behind closed doors and there was often animosity borne out of a need to reaffirm heterosexuality after a particularly alluring green resulted in a triple male bronze/green flight. It wasn't the Weyr way to act so but it was the human way.

She had been grateful for the eye-opening experience and had rushed to tell Buthaynah, who had been far less impressed by the disclosure. Ghaliyah had deflated a little when Buthaynah told her plainly that she had known all along.

Female homosexuality was not unknown on Pern, it was just better hidden. There was no haven for young women as there was for young men in the Weyrs of Pern and, like the later belief that women only impressed queen dragons, circumstances reinforced the supposed truth. Ghaliyah's special burden would help free women of the same ilk from a life of lies and hiding.

Who would have ever guessed that one of the first women she helped would be her very own Weyrwoman?

ØØØ

Buthaynah expected to find Ghaliyah in meager spirits, sore from a mating flight, and drinking klah in an effort to raise her awareness. The greenrider would be happy to see a familiar female face home early from an excursion out. They would talk and laugh, Buthaynah making comments about Ghaliyah's new residence and asking after Rimath who would naturally be in the complete opposite mood as her life mate.

She was rather surprised then to find a scantily clad female rider stumble out to the ledge, covered only in a sheet. Buthaynah's eyebrows rose as she identified the junior Weyrwoman. She couldn't help a quick once over of the woman, knowing full well how rare this opportunity was.

Favanna was a lean woman, muscles built of Turns spent riding a'dragonback showing clearly every time she moved. Her hair was long, falling in gentle, slightly tangled curls. She peered blearily up at Buthaynah from under dark lashes that framed brown eyes. Favanna opened her mouth as though to speak, took a step forward towards Buthaynah, and promptly fell on her face.

Buthaynah scrambled to help the Weyrwoman up and set her on her feet, lest the barely conscious woman lose her step and take a nasty tumble off the side of the ledge. She looked as though she had just woken up, the hide barely covering her enhancing the look.

Ghaliyah appeared from inside. She took one look at the two women standing on the ledge, swore, then spat on the ground.

"Sharding shells, woman," she snarled at Favanna, wrapping the Weyrwoman's arm around her shoulders. Buthaynah let go, feeling a little star-struck as she watched Ghaliyah carry Favanna's weight easily. Ghaliyah turned back to look at Buthaynah still standing there, dirt on her face and a rucksack at her side.

"Well, come on," she said testily. "Get in here before the whole blasted Weyr knows you're up here."

Buthaynah followed the pair into Ghaliyah's and Rimath's weyr. It was sparsely decorated as the previous one had been. Rimath's stone bed was empty. Buthaynah guessed she was roosting somewhere else with her newest beau. It certainly wasn't Favanna's queen that was keeping the green company.

She entered into Ghaliyah's sitting area which consisted of little more than a wooden table and a few chairs, baskets shoved into a corner for storage. The area would have been unbearably cramped if anything more had been put into it.

Ghaliyah set Favanna down in one of the chairs and moved to gather up some cups from one of the baskets. Her new weyr, like many greenriders, had no access to stairs or the pulley service and was truly little more than a hole in the mountain face.

"I swear," Ghaliyah snarled, almost slamming the cups on the table. "One of these days, _she_," Ghaliyah pointed menacingly at the queenrider, who blinked innocently back at her, "is going to walk out there and forget she's not in her own weyr and fall all the sharding way down to the ground before Alibith even realizes she's done something so sharding foolish. And _don't_," she said, shooting another glare at Favanna, "say she'll catch you because I'd like to see her big golden arse climb all the way up here in the time it'd take you to go ker-splat."

Favanna smiled sweetly and began pouring what smelled like klah into the three cups Ghaliyah had set out. She handed one to Buthaynah, who took it gratefully, and also pulled out a chair, which Buthaynah sat down in with a grateful, weary sigh.

"Then Rimath will catch me," Favanna said, in what sounded like a well-versed argument between the two.

"What if Rimath and I aren't here?" Ghaliyah shot back. Buthaynah noticed the edge to her voice had subsided.

"Then I wouldn't be in your weyr," Favanna answered. "Sit, Ghaliyah, we have a guest."

Buthaynah fought to hide her smile, settling on taking a sip of klah. It was lukewarm, having been left sitting for several candlemarks. Buthaynah hoped to get better when she consulted the Weyrleaders later. If, that is, they thought her findings were worth anything.

"What are you doing here?" Ghaliyah asked Buthaynah. She leaned against the table just to defy Favanna, which the queenrider pretended to ignore happily. "I thought you were going to be gone longer or that you at least would have asked for me when you were going to come back. The tithe route is terrible."

"I did ask for you," Buthaynah answered, setting the unappetizing klah down. "But the drums confused my message. A nice greenrider by the name of G'hall brought me here."

"Oh, you must have been traveling for days," Favanna said kindly "Thread won't fall until tomorrow and I know you are one to make the most of a trip."

Buthaynah glanced at Ghaliyah, trying to hold back her disgust at the woman's words. Of course, grumpy Ghaliyah would end up with someone sweet-tempered. Buthaynah rather preferred Galla's prickly ways.

"Yes," Buthaynah answered honestly. "I've been riding for days." She turned to Ghaliyah. It wasn't a deliberate snub to the Weyrwoman. Buthaynah really needed to discuss this they way she'd been thinking it before modifying it for the Weyrleaders. Ghaliyah's flinty stare reassured her. "I went first to see about Lady Misra, see if there were any leads there. She's been replaced, as would be expected, and no one's willing to talk. I searched where I could and came up with nothing. I've been going to every small hold I can find, even checked the Metalcraft and Weavercraft Halls but none there know or care about what happened here. They're grumbling about tithes but half of them aren't even aware anything happened. I went south, looking for anyone angry at us," Buthaynah saw Favanna frown but she continued on, talking to Ghaliyah alone. "I couldn't find anyone willing to talk. A lot of the border holders are talking about it and I think that's where the information is coming in from. Our people don't know and don't care." Ghaliyah made a small scoffing sound. "Agreed," Buthaynah said. Favanna looked even more confused. "They know but they're not telling. I doubt they're covering up, though, at least in the south."

"So I left and went down by the sea. Sometimes they use materials on their boats that burn on land. Nothing came up so I left. I was going to go inland until I came across two men. They were plotting something, trying to get some holder to pay up for a load they should have sent a few sevendays ago. That's when I 'found' this," she said, pulling an oilskin wrapped lump out of her pocket. Carefully moving the cups of klah to the far end of the table, she set it down, unwrapping it with great care.

"What is it?" Ghaliyah asked.

"I'm not sure," Buthaynah said, "but I've been calling it boomstone."

ØØØ

"Boomstone?" Ghaliyah asked with a snort. "Why would you call it that?"

Favanna looked from Buthaynah's mouth over to Ghaliyah again, as she'd been doing while Buthaynah had been talking, trying to understand what the woman was saying. They'd fallen into some sort of Bitran cant and the queenrider could only catch one in every three words. She knew they were discussing Buthaynah's trip and that whatever Buthaynah had placed on the table was important, but everything else escaped her.

She looked at the stone on the table, letting the women talk over her. While Buthaynah was busy pointing and talking in that weird way, she picked the rock up and brought it close to her face to study it.

"It looks like firestone," she said slowly, turning the stone in her hands. The women stopped talking and turned to look at her.

"Yes, I know," Buthaynah said, annoyed at what was a less than astute observation. She'd fallen out of her cant and Favanna was grateful to understand every word she said. "It looks like firestone but it's not. It looks like firestone but I found it in the back of a wagon hidden from sight. The Weyrs already have suppliers of firestone and this was going south along the seaside, too far south for Benden, too far east for Igen."

"Then it's not firestone," Favanna said, earning her a look from both women that made her feel like a common holder girl. Apparently, that was a given. Perhaps that was what the two had been discussing while she sat there like a bump on a log, only stupider.

"You say it explodes when you get it wet?" Ghaliyah asked. She was obviously continuing their earlier conversation, only this time in regular speech for Favanna's benefit.

"Yes, but that may only be water. I only tested it the once and I was too far gone to hope the lot would be there when I returned. The flake wasn't all that big, either, so imagine what more of it would do. A couple of these or even one big one could take out a wall."

"Or a rock face," Favanna mused. She winced when that earned her another look. "Are you suggesting this rock was used in the explosions? That this was what killed and injured all those riders?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting," Buthaynah said. "What we need is a way to find records of a hold ordering and receiving any quantity of stone of this description. Whoever those men were, they at least supplied the murderers with it, whether they gave it to them directly or had it stolen. They're likely in the immediate area as the men who were hired to bring it here. I can't say tracking this will find who caused all of this but I can promise you it will help."

Favanna's eyebrows rose and she stood up from the table, letting out a bark of laughter. Buthaynah's eyes flashed.

"No, no, I'm not laughing at what you said," she reassured the woman. "I know now why you never stood at Hatching. You're too clever to be a greenrider."

"Hey!" Ghaliyah protested. "Are you saying I'm slow?"

Favanna patted the greenrider's shoulder. "Well, you're not _quite_ a dimglow but…" Ghaliyah swatted at her.

Buthaynah cleared her throat.

"Weyrwoman Favanna," she said. "Could you get me an audience with the Weyrleaders? I would like to discuss this with them as soon as possible."

Favanna sobered up and nodded. "Wrap that thing up and keep it close. I will ask a brownrider to take you down to the Lower Caverns. There you will find arrangements for you to stay in one of the guest rooms we use for families at Hatchings. I doubt your former place is in decent shape."

"Thank you," Buthaynah said.

Favanna nodded again and reached out to Alibith. Her queen was sunning herself out on her ledge. _Dearest, ask W'lej to take a friend down to the Lower Caverns, would you?_

While Alibith complied, Favanna looked Buthaynah over from the corner of her eye. The woman would have made a good Weyrwoman. As it was, she had the makings of a good Headwoman once she settled back in at the Weyr. A fruitful woman, she had already had two children in her time at the Weyr, both of whom were fostering with the weyrmate of a fine bronzerider, H'rothen. Favanna had only ever heard good of the woman.

These thoughts weren't quite idle: Favanna was next in line for Weyrwoman, capable in all her duties and discreet about her dalliances, and she was already on the lookout for Weyrfolk to support her should she come to power. Galla was unlikely to pass on anytime soon but there would come a time when she would tire of leadership, when her bones would ache from the cold of Benden and years spent flying with the Queen's Wing, and Favanna would be there as second in command. The leadership would pass gently in all likelihood and Favanna would have it for a few Turns, and in that time Buthaynah, if she stayed, would likely be Headwoman, the most powerful woman after the Weyrwomen, a woman whose power drew solely from her personal achievements and magnanimity, not from her dragon's color.

Thinking about it, Favanna was rather glad Buthaynah had never Impressed. Buthaynah was someone she could easily see running a Weyr or, if she disagreed with any part of the leadership, being the scourge of it.


End file.
